Tell me I'm alive
by Manny Maarie
Summary: Over a decade after the war, Hermione's life has taken a turn for the worse. For the first time ever, there is no plan, no brilliant solution, no Golden Trio. She finds refuge within the walls of St-Mungo's, but soon begins to suspect that the hospital is hiding a terrible secret from the Wizarding World. Canon compliant-ish
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I obviously am NOT JK Rowling, and therefor own absolutely nothing of her fantastic world and characters. Just playing with them for a bit.

 **Author's Note** : Here we go again. New story, new hopes. Settle yourself in for a long one, this thing is already over 100 pages long and it just keep stretching itself. Please enjoy and am always happy to read feedback.

 **Edit 1:** After a guest review, I feel the need to point out that this is NOT a Ron/Hermione story. I do not believe I overly demonize Ron, but for the context of my story he isn't really present and more of a past catalyst for my protagonist's current situation.

 **Chapter 1**

The halls of St-Mungo's were meant to have have been my refuge at night. It should have been an easy job to escape from my everyday trouble, it turned out to be anything but.

It had all started...well honestly, it might have started the day I was born. Raised by two orthodontists, the white sterile halls of hospitals had been my playground as a toddler. Neither parent had been willing to put their career aside for their child.

Most of the nurses had rejoiced at having a child who wasn't a patient running around, giggling and demanding to play hide and seek. Yes, I supposed it made sense that I would end up here after everything that had happened.

"Mrs Weasley?" a voice called from behind, interrupting my echoing thoughts and footsteps.

I turned around to see a man in healer's robes whom I did not recognize.

My reply was automatic, stern, "It's _Miss Granger_ , if you please."

The man's left eyebrow rose slightly, but he did not pry. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had, my love life had been under public scrutiny since I was 15 years old, now more than ever. Or would be… I needed to remember to avoid the papers tomorrow.

We had kept it secret as long as we could have. The miscarriages, the fights, Ron's affairs...but we both knew it was only a matter of time before Rita or someone cut of the same cloth would sniff it all out. At least I had managed to move out, if not move on, before then.

I sighed.

"Oh, no worries Mrs...Miss, I'm not here to get your autograph or anything like that," the healer continued.

I took a better look at him in the dim light of the corridor. He seemed much younger than I, a trainee in fact according to the badge proudly displayed on his chest. He was a short man with hair as blonde as Draco's.

"My name is James Tuckett, and well... you see, the West Wing is off limits to volunteer staff. I'm terribly sorry M...iss…"

I blinked a few times, then turned to look at the corridor down which I had been wandering, "Right, of course. I knew that, must have gotten lost in thoughts."

"No problem at all, please," he said, and waited.

As if there _was_ a problem, as if my presence irked him.

I noticed his fidgeting, fingers endlessly picking at each other's nails, his tongue sticking out to lick his lips over and over, but his smile didn't fade.

"I'm sorry, but what exactly is beyond those doors?"

I should not have asked; in fact, I knew better than to ask. Soon as the question left my lips I regretted it, bloody _know-it-all_.

The man, or boy, gosh when had I become so old...the healer did not reply. Maybe he did not trust himself to find an adequate way to tell me to bugger off.

"Well, goodnight then," I said after a long, awkward pause.

He bid me the same and watched me leave, standing there, turning slowly on himself as his gaze followed my form. I did not need to be a witch to feel his eyes linger, all the way down until I turned right and was out of sight.

Shaking the tingling feeling in my spine, I checked my watch and I realized it was nearly two in the morning, time to visit the Longbottoms. Not that they expected me. Not that they would ever noticed...

Was I punishing myself? Maybe. That was Ron's favourite thing to say, about everything really.

"This is just you punishing yourself for failing so horribly at SPEW!" he'd told me when I took up magical law in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He'd been drinking, which was nothing new really. His favourite team had won and I had just come back with a confirmation of acceptance...I'd been so happy.

I guess I'd wanted him to replace my parents, to be as proud as they had always been. Silly really… they were gone, living happier lives away from all this. It wasn't Ron's fault I couldn't deal with my own success, that I needed other's approval to be happy and to fill a void that, honestly, no one could ever fill but me.

My psychiatrist had told me that.

It was after the first miscarriage, a regular happenstance in the magical world I was told, that I decided to go see a Muggle shrink. The magical world did not believe in mental health issues, they thought everything could be fixed by the waving of a wand. You had bad dreams, obliviate my dear!

But I did not want to forget.

As I walked down the empty corridors toward the Longbottom's ward, I heard the moans and groans of our inhabitants. This section had doubled in size during the war, and then even more after it.

I guess that was one advantage of being a Muggle war hero in a wizarding world with my own psychological struggles. One of my pet projects since nearly a decade: I had managed to convince the hospital's board of directors to consider mental health problems as a real thing, and they began taking PTSD patients more seriously.

George had come here for a while. To relax, center himself, and most of all to talk to others who had suffered losses during the Second Wizarding. Some people called it Voldemort's War, but I always thought it gave the noseless pretentious bastard too much power.

I passed through a double door over which stood proudly _Granger and Snape's Ward for Brave Wizards and Witches_. That did feel good, every time I saw it. Not because it was my name, but that it was the name of my family, my parents, and specially my grandfather who had suffered his entire life after the Second World War with no one taking his troubles or nightmares seriously.

After I'd received the Order of Merlin First Class, and accepted Severus Snape's awards in his name (no one else had wanted to), I had put the money here.

Frank and Alice were both sleeping when I silently entered the ward. So was Lockhart, whom I tried never to have any direct contact with. Avoiding mistakes of the past...or so my shrink claimed.

Neither of Neville's parents were truly my responsibility, but I came a few times a night anyway. Always every two hours after my shift began, at 20h00 sharp. I had started doing this two weeks ago, after meeting up with Neville for the second time and hearing him ask for a status update on his parents.

I don't think he'd meant to ask, and he always apologized afterwards for pushing, but he couldn't help it. What with his job at Hogwarts, he hardly had any time to see his parents other than Christmas and summer holidays. Now whenever I met him I could tell him that they were fine, as fine as could be. And more…

Some of the staff had a hard time believing that Frank and Alice had been formidable Aurors in their time, but likely they did not know half the story. Still, I had to wonder if they were blind. None of the patients in this ward had a wand as it was either taken away or never found, and certainly no new one would ever be given another. Yet the Longbottoms always managed to override the spells on their beds. Every single night they charmed the damned things together, so that they could sleep side by side.

The witches and wizards of St-Mungo's staff were not by any mean stupid or weak, they had tried one measure after the other, but at some point must have given up. Or maybe they just did not care any more. However they managed, the married pair always went to sleep together, but at dawn their beds would again levitate where they should be, about one and a half meters apart.

Lockhart suddenly screamed out in his sleep, something about a lionness, making me jump out of my slippers and rush out of the ward. Great hero Hermione Weasl…. _Granger!_ , scared to death by a cowardly obliviated man. Oh, to see Skeeter's article.

I spent the rest of my shift moving from ward to ward, pacing the corridors and quietly greeting the nurses or patients which were awake at this ungodly hour. A tea every couple of hours kept me going through the worst bouts of exhaustion, but after nearly four weeks of being here I was getting used to the midnight shift.

Once the sun began to rise, around six at this time of the year, the hospital slowly awoke from its slumber. Full fledged Healers began pouring in through the front gates and the floor room, nurses quickly following after them and handing out reports of tasks for the day and anything which might have happened while they were gone.

"Mrs Weasley, how was the night?" a tall woman asked as she approached me, her nurse robes flowing elegantly after her. Her name was Madam Claire Devenier, she was a French-born witch who had moved to England decades ago.

"It's Miss Granger actually. Again…"

The older witch simply blinked at me, apparently uninterested by my marital status. "I still need your report."

"Quiet, as usual. Though there was…" I thought of the West Wing, wanted to ask about Healer Tuckett, but thought better of it. Last thing I wanted was to have people think I was snooping. "A shortage of coffee," I said after a pause.

Madam Devenier frowned, "I thought you drank tea?"

"As well, yes," just then a yawn overtook me and I quickly covered my mouth.

"Hmm, I'll check with the cantine, make sure they leave an extra pot tonight," she made a scribble in her notebook and then told me to hurry home for some well deserved rest.

Home. I wish I could, but that's not where I was headed. Or was it?

It was hard to think of the dusty, mould-smelling single room flat in Knockturn Alley as anything but a temporary shelter. And I wasn't working very hard to turn it into anything but. At least the rent of was low, which currently was a blessing considering as I was technically out of a job. The Ministry still paid me a percentage of my salary, for sick leave, but I doubted it would last very long.

There were not official laws or contracts on these things in the Magical World. If a company or individual who hired you liked you enough, you'd be compensated for sick or maternity leave. But they weren't in any way obliged to do so. Most did to keep up a good reputation and show off their wealth, like the Ministry.

"Well, look who it is. Seen the papers yet, girl?" came the voice of my neighbour, Mrs Stehtly, an old witch who looked like she could have been alive when Ollivander was founded. She was sitting on a rickety wooden chair in the dark alleyway where I now lived.

I sighed, "No, and not planning to have a look."

"Coward! Some Gryffindor you make. Here, have mine," she tossed the paper in the air with more force than I would have expected from her frail arms.

I fumbled, the pages spread out and flew to the ground in various crumpled heaps. Mrs Stehtly laughed for a good five minutes as I picked up the paper from the filthy ground. Then I saw it, the front page of the Prophet, and felt...relief. This was not as bad as expected!

There was Ron's face, smiling and looking into the camera with an air of confidence and pride which had made me fall for him all those years ago. Next to him was a red haired witch, someone I knew only as _the other woman_ , _your affair_ , and other less savoury adjectives I might have spewed over the years. I wasn't really sure it was the same woman, he probably have gone through two dozen.

The headline read: Wizarding Hero and millionaire co-owner of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes finds true love, finally! Exclusive article by Rita Skeeter.

I wasn't mentioned until page 3.

" _Hermione Weasley, now Granger, the bushy haired golden trio member who was, obviously, unworthy of the great Ron Weasley, is now living in exile somewhere undisclosed. Having left her prominent position at the Ministry, one colleague was heard stating that the poor woman never had gotten over the emotional tolls of the war. And further that her husband would have been better off with someone less hellbent on her career, and more focused on her family. Who knows, the losses might have been avoided then?_ "

The losses. Blaming my career for the death of my unborn babies. I dropped the sad excuse of a newspaper to the ground again.

"I knew you'd like it! Quite the pair they make, no?"

"Bugger off," was all I said before stepping into our decrepit building. Behind me the old woman exploded into another fit of giggles.

My breakfast, or was it dinner, consisted of a beer and a bag of crisps. I had little energy to conjure anything else and the Wizarding World wasn't big on ready made meals. Normally I used to pop over to Muggle London to stock up on canned goods and microwavable meals, but graveyard shifts made shopping a real hassle. I ate in the kitchen, on a table big enough for two, in a room big enough for one.

The bathroom was nothing but a toilet and sink, and the only other room fit only my bed. The whole thing was a mess. Clothes spread on the ground, dust, dirt, empty bottles littered what little of the floor there was, but I stepped over them without really seeing any of it.

One day I'd clean up, I told myself. One day you'll muster the energy to wave your wand around, when you feel better, and desire to make the world around you better. But not today.

I fell asleep completely dressed.

When I woke up, the sun was setting. I rarely stepped outside during daylight hours anymore and my skin was showing it.

During these first few minutes after opening my eyes, I felt renewed energy. I told myself I would come home and clean after work tonight, that over the weekend I would visit my friends, go out in the park, go shopping, but that energy did not last very long.

Only Neville managed to drag me out of my routine every other Sunday. His letters cheered me up, and he never pried, never judged. We'd gotten closer after the problems with Ron had begun. It's not as if I could have talked to Ginny or Harry about my husband and our issues.

Luna was off traveling the world in the search of nonexistent creatures, Draco was out of the question and my colleagues at the ministry, well, I never had bothered cultivating many friends there. Work had been my number one priority.

But Neville had been there. Not that I opened up about everything to him, but his support and unflinching cheeriness had been very welcomed.

I was thankful for the cover of nightfall as I left my flat, my _Batcave_ as I'd begun to think of it; as a matter of fact I'd found two bats when I'd first moved in. In the darkness people were less likely to recognize me, less likely to ask questions.

"And she blesses the night once more with her presence. Hermione, you should really pick up your litter," Mrs Stehtly piped up, looking as if she had not moved from her chair for the whole day. I hated the way she said my name, between her crooked teeth it lost two syllables and became nothing more than a _hermnie_.

I looked down, the paper was indeed still there, beaten to a pulp by today's rain and hundreds of footsteps. Angrily I flicked my hand at it and the image of Ron and his beautiful redhaired woman disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Good night, Mrs Stehtly," I replied and moved on.

My tiny flat did not have a fireplace, and therefore no floo network, which had been quite an annoyance at first until I realized that honestly I didn't want to go anywhere at all.

To get to St-Mungo's I had to use one of the public floo centers nearby, deeper down the narrow alley and into the heart of the shadiest place in Wizarding London. At least no one talked to each other here.

I entered a grimy shop without a name and a young man in black robes looked up from his book. He sat at a lonesome counter, the shelves behind him empty, the only other objects in the room were two fireplaces where a few embers glowed warmly in the gloom.

"One trip to St-Mungo's," I said and placed a few knuts on the counter. A puff of dust flew in the air.

The man scraped the coins with one hand and I heard them tumble down into what might have been a jar hidden behind the counter. A tiny bag of floo powder was then dropped unceremoniously in their stead.

He said nothing. He never did. I always hesitated to ask his name, or whether he had gone to Hogwarts, as he looked as if he could have been only a few years below me. But I never mustered the courage or energy. I looked up at him; his attention was already diverted to his book again. He was always reading. Perhaps that's why I was interested; he was also quite handsome.

I shook my head, the last thing I needed now was some sort of fling. Taking the pouch and opening it, I walked to one of the fireplaces and chucked in its content until the flames roared green. I threw myself in, hesitating just a fraction of a second longer than was prudent before speaking, wondering where the maze of the network could take me, wondering if I could simply disappear.

"St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," I said finally, and walked out in a cheery white room lit with no less than six fireplaces.

No one was here to greet me. A few late visitors entered the room, looked at me and nodded without really seeing me, before leaving through the floo. I started my rounds after registering myself at the entrance desk. Even at this hour, where Healers and nurses were still running around, there wasn't much for me to do.

I wondered if they had accepted my volunteering more as a favour to me than to themselves. Theoretically I was supposed to report any incident, with the patients or otherwise, to my supervisor Madam Devenier, but I had yet to be able to report anything. Whenever an emergency had happened, magical alarms and bells had gone off to call the appropriate person in charge, and I was left standing in the way, watching.

Still, this felt useful enough. And calming.

At around midnight my footsteps carried me to the small cafeteria where only staff were allowed. There wasn't much in there except tea and biscuits, and a bit of conversation between rounds. It was empty as I entered though, for which I wasn't sure to be relieved or not. Three weeks ago when I had started volunteering here I had enjoyed the solitude, now it was becoming monotonous.

I moved silently between the white round tables dotting the large room, making my way to the canteen counter where two large water heaters had been set up by the kitchen crew before leaving for the day. I grabbed one of the white cups and a bag of Earl Gray. Having been burnt more than once by the blasted dispensers, I waved my hand and let magic do the rest.

"You know most of us would kill to be able to do that right?"

Startled, I fumbled the cup and it shattered on the ground, splashing boiling water over my uncovered ankles. I hissed and jumped away, too late as it were. From behind me I heard a slew of apologies, peppered with choice curse words, topped with more apologies.

Somewhat flustered and a bit more than annoyed, I spun around to find Hannah Longbottom staring at me wide eyed with her arms out as if to catch me. Before I could tell her to stop, she was on her knees and waving her wand around and over the burns.

"Gosh, Hermione I am so sorry, I think Neville is rubbing off on me, you know...didn't use to be such a klutz."

"I'm fine, really, just- " but there was no stopping her She muttered one diagnostic after the other, a cooling charm strong enough to make the hot summer evening feel like winter, and another pass of spells I barely knew.

"There, as good as new. Now for the mess," she mumbled and evanescoed the broken shards and spill from the otherwise pristine white floor, "And a fresh cup for you."

"Hannah…" was all I could muster before a new cup was pushed in the palm of my hands, and a biscuit in my mouth.

The blonde hufflepuff took a step back, hands on her hips, as if to examine her handywork. She nodded to herself once and, satisfied, turned to make herself a cuppa as well.

We moved to a table with a view over the inner grounds, the dark windows mostly showing our own reflection. Once seated, and Hannah having gone through three more apologies, I finally got a real word in the conversation.

"Not to sound rude, but what are you doing here Hannah? Shouldn't this be high time at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"I'm sure it is, but I quit."

I choked on my tea. "Quit?! When?"

"Just about two weeks ago."

I looked at her, waiting for more, but she sipped her tea slowly and smiled.

" _Why_ did you quit?"

"Oh yes, right. Well you see, it might sound quite silly to someone like you, but...I wanted to move in closer to Neville."

I felt myself raising an eyebrow at her. "Now why would I think that? It would be great for you two to see each other more often, though you still haven't explained what being at St-Mungo's in the middle of the night has anything to do with being closer to Neville."

She blushed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that, well, it's not like you're known for being the romantic type. Could hardly imagine the great Hermione Weasley changing career and world to be with her one true love!" she snorted as she giggled, "But well, you see I've got accepted in a Healer's training course. It requires to have a certain number of hours spent either in home care or hospital work. As you can imagine, I've _quite_ a bit to catch up on."

I opened my mouth to correct her on my last name, but closed it again. Honestly I was beginning to tire of the conversation. Between insinuation that I was as developed romantically as a threshal and having to silently admit to myself that I would never, in fact, make such drastic change for someone...Well, I was beginning to regret having wished for company at all.

Still, my curiosity got the better of me, "Hannah, that's really great and all, but I still have to ask, what does any of that have to do with Neville?"

She put down her cup, now almost empty while mine still steamed in my hands, "Madam Pomfrey is retiring next year. So I thought, well we discussed...it's a longshot really…"

My eyes grew round in understanding and I made an _oohhh_ sound, honestly now that she said it, I should have made the connection, "I'm sure you have as good a chance as anyone to be hired, Hannah. And my ankles can definitely testify to your healing skills."

She apologized again for the tea incident and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes, though it did make me smile. We spent half an hour discussing her decision and new direction in life. It was odd to think of Hannah as being anything but a cheery, happy landlady with a proud smile whenever someone commented on her butterbeer or establishment. But seeing the passion in her eye as she spoke of healing and the possibility of being at Hogwarts in the same role as Madam Pomfrey, I knew she would definitely succeed.

When asked how long she would be at St-Mungo's, she grinned, "A _long_ time. Most nights a week, and I might have to squeeze in a few weekends as well. Neville won't like it, but he understands. I'm not sure how I'll hold up though, between learning during the day and this at night...don't be surprised if you see me passed out in here a few times."

I chuckled. "Yes well, you can count on me to not wake you up."

"Thanks, Hermione. Sorry I got so caught up, I haven't even bothered to ask about you. How long are you going to be here? I'd heard from Neville that you'd started, and had kept an eye on his parents for him. That's terribly kind of you by the way."

"Well I guess I won't need to anymore, since you're here. But it was the least I could do. As for how long, let's see...I don't...I don't have any plans right now."

That felt strange to say. It must have sounded strange to Hannah as well because she barely hid a look of utter astonishment.

"I thought you might also be learning healing or so, you'd be bloody great at it?"

I shook my head, "Nothing like that, no. Just, keeping myself busy."

Oh gosh, it sounded positively depressing when saying it out loud.

"I get it, you know."

Did she? I smirked, and tolerated the touch of her hand covering mine over the table with barely hidden distaste. Hannah and I had never been close; I had always found her to be rather silly. Comfortable to be around in short amount of time, but no one to open up my heart to or have intellectual discussions with. I was too hard a judge on people, or so I was told.

"Yeah, I know you don't believe me. Still, you're doing fine Hermione. Doing what _feels_ right, for you, right now. That's not a weakness or a failure, it's completely alright not to have a plan. Take your time. Merlin knows you never had enough of it as a child."

I stared at her, speechless My instinct told me to argue with her, be the devil's advocate, because wasn't I being simply lazy? Leaving my work, my life, my husband, basically running away from real life...to this, this sunless bunker where only the sleeping kept me company?

Hannah did not wait for me to formulate some form of reply. She took away both our cups and washed them with a quick flick of her wand, the remnants of her time as landlady I supposed. She even took a moment to reorder the teabags, wipe away the crumbs around the biscuit bowl and check on the water heaters. With both hands on her hips, she then took a step back and nodded to herself with a satisfied smile.

"Well, goodnight then Hermione, it was really nice seeing you again. I hope we'll run into each other a few more times while we're both here in the dead of night!"

I looked up and nodded with a smile, but before she was out of sight I called after her, "Wait, Hannah, what did you mean earlier? Before I dropped the cup, you said something about _being able to do that_. Do what?"

She grinned, "Wandless, non-verbal magic, of course! You do it without breaking a sweat! It's an incredibly rare gift, didn't anyone tell you?"

"Oh that," I waved my hand in the air dismissively.

"Honestly, Hermione," she shook her head, "But now I'm afraid I have to run. I've been asked to accompany Healer Tuckett to the West Wing, quite exciting really."

The corridor I had been turned away from. I was not used to being blocked from seeing or knowing something. As a child we'd broken into the ministry of mysteries, entered all the sections of the castles which were marked as off limits, entered the Forbidden Forest...horrible brats really. The idea that there was an entire ward which should not be visited kindled something deep inside of me, a desire to know, to explore. A thirst for adventure.

"What's in the West Wing?" I asked, same question, different person, still I wanted to bite my tongue for being so damned curious.

"No one knows!" Hannah replied in a spooky, ghost story voice as she left the cafeteria.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Well, here is Chapter 2! Thank you for the kind words and follows/favourites on the first Chapter. Much appreciated! Quite a dialogue heavy chapter, hope you enjoy the interactions as much as I loved writing them.

Enjoy!

 **Chapter 2**

"I might go crazy if I don't find out," I told Neville two weeks later, exasperated by my own silliness and unquenchable thirst for the truth.

It was Sunday and as I had missed the last two meet-ups Neville had scheduled with me, I had promised to spend double the regular amount of time with him. He told me I was doing him a favour by visiting, but I knew he mostly did it for my sake. When I'd informed him I had stopped going to the psychiatrist a few months ago, he became even more insistent regarding our lunches.

"You might not like the answer," he replied before taking a sip of his home made green tea.

I leaned forward on the small table in his teacher's quarters, "So she DID tell you something?"

Neville laughed, "Hermione, no, I've told you five times; Hannah would never betray someone's trust like that. Not even to me, I admire that about her."

"Hufflepuffs!" I exclaimed and slumped back in the comfortable bright orange chair. His whole room was Gryffindor themed.

I had tried to get Hannah to tell me what had happened in the West Wing, but to no avail. At first I had hoped she'd come out with it herself, but after having met her a dozen times in the cafeteria without a single peep, I had forced the issue. She hadn't been very happy about it.

She had become somber and easily irritable shortly after our first meeting and my questions had actually caused her to snap at me, telling me to learn to respect the rules like everyone else.

She'd apologized for it, but the damage had been done. Our late night tea times had grown quite awkward.

Neville rubbed the back of his neck, moving his head this way and that to stretch. After a moment he sighed, and said "What I can say is that she's been quite out of sorts since that night. Sometimes I feel she wants to tell me, that it's on the tip of her tongue, but the moment passes and she smiles, shakes her head and moves on."

"Doesn't that just kill you?"

"No. I've enough to think about with school and trying to get her the Matron's position here, plus there's a rampant case of Troll Pox afflicting the second years and I'm running out of ingredients for the new potion's master."

"Bet you're happy that's not Snape, he'd have your head for keeping him waiting."

We laughed, but only for a moment, before silence fell and the memory of the misunderstood, if twatish, professor came back to us.

"Do you still put flowers on his grave?" I asked.

"Every other day."

"Good, I'm happy someone can do it. It's not visited enough." I went by every time I was at Hogwarts, which was definitely much more often lately than the years before, making up for lost time.

"Hagrid brings the first years still, to his and Dumbledore's grave. And most of the Slytherins consider his grave some kind of holy ground. They commune there once in a while, doing their homework on the grass. Bet he'd hate that."

"I dunno, he was always so protective of them."

"Yeah, 'cause everyone else hated them."

"That's not true!"

"Oh come off it, Hermione. We were terrible to those kids. Not only us, but the teachers too. They looked at Draco the way someone looks at a dung beetle. And it's not gotten much better. But the new head is helping, Madam Király, she's nice and sensible, if still a real damned Slytherin at heart."

"From Hungary wasn't she?" I looked at my empty cup with some dismay, needing more caffeine to keep me going at these ungodly afternoon hours.

"Yup, studied in Asia. While we were at war and choosing sides, she was exploring the ancient magical communities of the Himalayas. She's a proper neutral party, that helps."

"That must have been nice...can you imagine? Not having been there, just reading it in the papers?"

Neville finished his glass and looked out the window overseeing the Forbidden Forest, "Nah. I mean, sure it would have been great to not fear for my life every other month. But I see it every time with the kids now, you know. They learn this stuff in history books now, all the glorified version of it. Lot of them come and ask me how it was, big eyes and all hope for great adventure stories."

"What do you tell them?"

He shrugged, looking suddenly a lot older and very, very tired. "I tell them to go do their homework. There's stuff I'd rather not discuss with anyone, let alone kids. I can't put a grandiose twist on what happened, the fear, the losses, the bitter-sweet victory. We were just kids, Hermione…"

I wondered if Neville would have profited from talking to someone, a professional, like I had. We all sort of just buried the pain after the final battle, because everyone had expected us to be overjoyed.

No time for mourning hun, you need to attend this Ministry gathering, this celebration, that one year anniversary ball, oh and could you sign this autograph please?

It's a wonder we hadn't gone insane.

Or maybe we had.

Neville jumped on another topic after a moment, announcing that he'd received an owl from Luna who was currently in northern Japan hunting a rare and most likely nonexistent water spirit. She'd sent a few photos and asked that Neville share them around. I was happy to hear from my friend.

Luna had not changed much over the years, she looked as young and naive as ever. I chuckled at once photo in particular, she was wearing heart shaped pink glasses and a bright orange kimono-style robe while posing next to a solemn monk. Behind them was a gorgeous temple with a few more monks walking up and down the steps.

"She looks happy," I said, handing the stack of photos and letter to Neville.

"She always did. I think Luna, more than any of us really, followed their calling in life. She never let anything get in her way."

"I suppose that's true," I said as I checked the time, "I should get going."

"Of course; you mind bringing these down?" Neville got up and moved to a dresser against the wall, on top of which was an elegant white vase with white lilies inside. He pulled up the bouquet, tied it expertly with a black ribbon, and handed me the package.

"It'd be a pleasure, I was planning on stopping by before leaving anyways. Thanks for the tea Neville," I hugged him before leaving, the heat of another person's body feeling terribly alien.

There was no way to leave Hogwarts without doing a round of sorts. Most of the teachers demanded to see me, and no one more than McGonagall, who was now the Headmistress of the school. I supposed I should consider myself lucky to have seen the interior of the Headmaster's office at all, let alone the one of three different people.

Dumbledore's had been crazy, whimsical and chaotic while keeping a sort of order. Snape's had been...bleak. Like my bedroom really, someone else's furniture, your stuff on top, no real reason to change anything since you weren't planning on staying.

McGonagall's was prim and proper. One thing I noticed immediately, which she had kept over the past decade, was the bowl of lemon pops on her desk. Always full to the brim. It was the most appropriate memorial of Dumbledore anyone could ever have made.

"I'll be with you in just a minute, Hermione dear," came McGonagall's voice, amplified by a sonorous charm, through an opening in the wall leading to her personal quarters.

I stood alone in the office, looking around at the faces of the Headmasters' portraits on the walls. It shouldn't have surprised me that they'd have something to say regarding my divorce. Most of them kept up with the Wizarding World news, and news of Ron's affair had definitely made the rounds.

"Did you _see_ that _girl_! A shame to this school I say, a _SHAME_! How could he?" came the authoritative voice of Headmaster Dippet.

"He never did deserve Miss Granger," someone else behind me chimed in.

There was a quiet buzzing of voices as the portraits discussed between themselves. I heard mentioned of _but the pregnancies_ , as well as _well she is quite difficult_ , and even, _they never should have married in the first place_.

I thought of how much easier it must be for a dead person to judge on the living. How simple their existence, all decisions and consequences simply vanished from their consciousness.

"Perhaps it was Miss Granger who paved the road for his flamboyant, and so very public, escapade," the unmistakable voice of Professor Snape resonated loud enough in the room to hush the rest.

I turned to him, ready to fume, but something in the way his portrait smirked at me stopped my words. He shifted ever so slightly forward, the way Professor Snape never would have done, too eager, too emotional and open, giving his intention away.

I smiled back, "I suppose I did," I said, crossing my arms. It was true, I had told Ron he could do whatever he pleased when I'd stormed out of the house that night, weeks ago. Told him it was over and there was no reason to hide anything any longer. He'd listened, for once.

"Severus, don't be daft, you've been reading too many of this beetle's articles, Skeeter's insanity is rubbing off on you!" Headmistress Filumina chided, already waving her oversized wand at the young man's portrait.

Another woman's voice, from behind me, whispered, "You have to forgive poor Severus, Miss Granger. No portrait can ever truly be perfect, but his...well it's a tad on the slow side. Tell me dear, how is St-Mungo's doing?"

I turned around to find Headmistress Dilys Derwent leaning against her frame, smiling. If memory served, she had worked at St-Mungo's before joining Hogwarts. "It's going as well as it can; there isn't much for me to do really."

"Yes, night shifts wasn't it? Can be quiet. You should really consider joining the day staff, you'd make a fine healer."

"No! I mean, thank you. But I don't think it's my sort of work, not long term in any case."

Dilys appeared quite disappointed, and maybe somewhat irked by my lack of passion for healing, but she quickly regained her smile. "And are those for a certain greasy haired snarky professor?"

I looked down at the bouquet in my arms, "Yes, he'd think it stupid and frivolous, but I guess he doesn't really have a say in it anymore. Still, he deserves something, and this is the best I can give."

Something in the portrait's dark brown eyes changed then, she turned left and right as if making sure no one was overhearing her, then she got as close to me as she could. "Seen the West Wing yet, dear?" she asked, "It's a beauty of construction, nothing like it at St-Mungo's. They've recently rebuilt it, the house-elves carved the marble walls themselves with never before seen cultural art."

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat, the mere mention of that accursed secret place making my brain abuzz with excitement. But before I could ask anything further, Dilys suddenly turned her back to me.

"Ah, Hermione! Terribly sorry to make you wait, I had a Hufflepuff to deal with. Pregnant, can you believe it? Muggle-born of course, never thought of using a contraceptive charm. I really need to consider adding this to the curriculum some day…"

As she spoke, McGonagall busied herself with preparing tea and setting up two cups in front of the fireplace where only embers glowed. I seated myself, assuring her that I was fine and it was no problem at all. We fell into comfortable and casual talk about the weather, her work and a few mentions of my current occupation at the hospital. The older witch did not pry about Ron or my personal state of affairs.

Once again she offered me a position at Hogwarts: Transfiguration still needed a replacement, and Charms might be open soon. Once again I politely refused, though I had to admit I hesitated longer than the previous times. I used to have this grand plan, to change the magical world from the top; I'd even considered running for Ministry of Magic. But now...I had a hard time getting out of bed most days. The idea of running an entire nation seemed absurd.

But a classroom? Maybe...to return to Hogwarts, where so many painful memories lingered, that was the hard part. Not only the memories of the battle, but of Ron as well. And Harry, Ginny...funny how divorce was so much more than two people separating. It was separating friends circle and living space, attempting never to visit establishments where you might run into the other person or memories of them.

I managed to escape from McGonagall's grasp barely an hour later.

I skipped visiting Hagrid. I knew it was terribly impolite and downright mean, but I couldn't face the gentle giant at this time. Unlike the rest of the staff or people I still talked to, he never had been able to avoid all the difficult topics. He tried, but the conversations grew so awkward and heavy that at some point I would bring up Ron myself just to ease the tension.

And so, after leaving McGonagall, I went straight to Professor Snape's grave. I never visited Dumbledore's; others did it often enough and the famous Headmaster had left me with an extremely ambivalent feeling about his person. The last thing I'd done for him was translate and publish the children's book he'd given me, and I felt that repaid any debt I might have had towards him. Thus ending our nearly non existent relationship.

Harry loved him enough for all of us.

But few people loved Professor Snape.

As I approached the mound overseeing the Great Lake where they'd buried him, I noticed a dark figure looming over the obsidian grave stone. I didn't recognize the woman, and only once I got close enough for her to hear my approaching footsteps, did I realize it must be the new Head of Slytherin.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you," I said, "I'll be gone in a moment."

The woman smiled, "Not at all, please. I daresay you have more right to be here than I do. I never actually spoke to him."

She was an elegant woman, with bright red hair pulled back in intricate braids, no makeup save for light lip gloss, and no taller than I was. Her robes were dark green, so dark in fact that in the growing darkness of the late afternoon they seemed black, but when she moved I noticed the shimmering of colour.

I placed the bouquet on the ground and flicked a preservation spell over them so that they might last a few days longer. Normally I'd say hello and speak a few words to the dead man, but it felt awkward with a stranger around. And so instead I ran my fingers over his name, engraved in silver in the obsidian tombstone.

"I'm Hermione Granger by the way," I said, stopping the woman in her tracks as she was about to leave. "We've haven't properly met."

She took my extended hand, "Ursula Király, Defense against the Dark Arts Professor, and Head of Slytherin."

Her eyes were green, like Harry's, and her smile warm. She appeared only slightly older than me, with a few wrinkles gathered at the corner of both eyes. Someone who liked to laugh. It was hard to imagine her in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

"Do you come here often? Neville mentioned it was some sort of gathering point for your House."

Ursula chuckled, "I suppose it is. I come as often as needed, he is a most patient listener."

"That he is indeed, more so in death than in life. Though to the right people I suppose he always had an open ear."

"To his House you mean, yes I've heard of that. I saw him a few times over the years, but never had the nerve to actually address him."

I raised an eyebrow; it was hard to imagine an occasion where the two could have met.

"My family is an old pure blood line from Hungary and Austria; Snape attended quite a few events there with his former... _friends_. We supported Voldemort from mainland Europe via financing and a few dark wizards of our own making."

It was hard to resist not taking a step back, harder still not to reach for my wand or throw a stunning hex out right. This woman was basically admitting to being a Death Eater, so much for unassuming looks.

"This was during Voldemort's first reign, after his first defeat my family underwent quite a few changes. And though we kept in touch with our past associates due to family relations and traditions, we never took up arms when he returned."

Something Neville had said came back to me, "But you never did anything actively to defeat him either? You went away, ignored the problem."

She smirked, "I may not have attended Hogwarts, Hermione, but I do believe the saying is: well I _am_ a Slytherin."

I was not much appeased, but the woman was so relaxed, so non-threatening, that I couldn't help but lower my guards. I forced out a chuckle and nodded. "Yeah, something like that. You two might have gotten along actually."

"I very much doubt it. I would have considered him a fool for putting himself in his position. Spying on one, lying to the other, saving the world...how ridiculous. Yet here he is, his name forever in history. Though no lineage to remember him."

"We remember him. And so will every student that comes to Hogwarts for centuries to come."

"Yes, a tough act to follow. I am but a mere mortal in comparison. Well, I dare say I should get back to my students now. Bedtime stories don't tell themselves!"

I frowned. "Bedtime stories?" My mind conjured an image of mother snake with her little snakes, in their den, gathered together to hear about other snakes and their adventures.

"Why yes! Old Hungarian tradition, the students have taken to it quite well. It helps create a bond between the different years in my House, a quiet hour where everyone is equal and focused only on listening."

I told her it sounded grand, but still had a hard time picturing Draco Malfoy sitting down in his nighties to listen to a story.

I watched her leave, left oddly on edge after our talk.

"Did you read to your students?" I asked Snape as I turned back to his grave. "I don't think you were ridiculous by the way. Just...misguided. Trying to do the best with what life had thrown at you."

I sat down for a while, leaning against the side of the tombstone, staring at setting sun. The colour reminded me of Ron's hair. I'd always enjoyed teasing him about being a ginger, his nearly transparent chest hair, how dark his leg hair were in comparison, how his beard was a strange mix of brown, blond and red. And then gray. He hadn't enjoyed getting older, the first time he'd seen a gray hair he'd gotten so angry at me for spotting it. Denying its existence for six months until one transformed into dozens.

That's when he'd let himself go somewhat, as if the proof of aging was permission to not pay attention to his health or body anymore. I tried to get him to keep in shape, but my gentle nudges were taken as accusations and caused him to pull away. Maybe that's why he'd gone running to another woman's open arms. Someone who saw him only as a rich and famous war hero, ignoring his faults for the privilege of being chosen by him.

 _Stop it_ , I chided myself, _you did not make him cheat on you!_

Standing up, I gave the grave one last look before moving away and into the Forbidden Forest, until I felt myself leaving the anti-apparition wards. With the memory of a screaming Umbridge being carried off, I turned on myself and apparated home.

I landed with my wand at the ready, the buzzing sensation of my security wards having been breached reaching me as I stopped spinning. I sensed the intruder before my eyes were adjusted to the shockingly bright flat and I hissed some threat or another before realizing that I was face to face with Ginny Weasley.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, then asked further, " _How_ are you here?"

Ginny straightened and finished folding what I realized were my pants, "You might think you're brilliant at magic Hermione, but I grew up with six older brothers, ward breaking is a particular specialty of mine."

I looked around and my jaw dropped. My disgusting little flat had been turned into a cozy, clean and liveable space. She must have cast some sort of extension charm on the living room, because it felt three times as big. The walls seemed brighter, the ceiling was no longer stained by decades of water leak stains, the floor had been stripped of its ash coloured carpet and the wooden planks underneath varnished.

"Bloody hell..."

"You're welcome," she said, waving her wand at the neatly stacked pile of freshly washed clothing so that it floated into a drawer that hadn't been there this morning.

"Welcome? Ginny Weasley, how dare you? This is my _home_!"

"Home?! Hermione you need glasses, or some sort of medication, this was a rat's nest. Or rather, a bat's nest considering the two I found sleeping in your ceiling. And I'm not sorry. You've ignored me for the past three months; did you expect we'd just forget about you and move on? Honestly, where's that brain of yours gone to?"

I was fuming. But so was she. And if there was one thing I knew, it was that facing an angry female Weasley was potentially the worst idea in the world. And so I took a step back, crossed my arms, and sulked.

It didn't help that the place smelled amazing, "Are you baking?"

"Oh, blimey!"

Ginny moved past me and into the kitchen. I followed, taking note of how my bed had fresh sheets and new pillows. My bookshelf was no longer leaning to one side and pictures which I had not seen in years had been hung on the walls. None of them showing Ron, at least.

This fact allowed to calm myself slightly, maybe she wasn't here to try to fix the marriage between me and her brother.

The kitchen had undergone much of the same change as the rest of my living space, and was now twice as large, painted a vivid shade of red and the old molded wooden cupboards had been torn out, replaced with new white ones.

I found Ginny pulling a tray of biscuits from a new modern stove I also did not remember owning, and placing them on a small dinner table.

"Did you seriously buy all this stuff for me?"

"Well, yeah. Harry and I did."

"But how? I mean, how did you get this done in a single day?"

"I'm a witch, Hermione. And household spells kind of run in my blood, have you met my mother?"

"Alright, fine. But why?"

Ginny sighed, "Sit, drink, eat something. By the looks of you, you're living off self pity and strong drinks."

I could hardly argue this point. I sat across my once closest friend and did as I was told. She refused to let me talk until I had eaten at least four of the biscuits and drank a whole cup of strong black tea.

As I ate I realized that she had lost weight, and there were bags under her eyes which even after three kids I could not remember being there.

"I'm fine, you know," I said finally.

"Of course you are. The filth, abandoning of your best friends and job quitting are all regular side effects of being _fine_."

I groaned, "I needed time away."

"How has that helped so far? Do you feel better? Are you happily pursuing your new life?"

"No, but…"

"Hermione, you need help. Neville told me you'd stop seeing your shrink or whatever it's called. He said he worried about you, that you missed like four meetings with him."

"It was two, and it seems I overestimated Neville's ability to keep things private."

Ginny slammed her fist on the table, making me jump. "Damn it, Hermione! This is not O.K.! I _know_ you're hurting, and Neville knows it too. He cares about you, but between Hannah and his job there isn't much time for him to help as much as he wishes. Trust me, he didn't betray your trust. He used it in order to make sure you get back up on your feet."

"I don't need a bloody babysitter. I'm a grown woman."

"Really? Cause this place looked worse than my son's bedroom." She took a deep breath and leaned back on her chair. "Hermione, we love you. A lot. You've always been an integral part of our lives. And I get that sometimes it's hard to come back, so here I am, making it easier. We don't want you to leave us."

There were no words to describe the feeling gripping at my throat. I opened my mouth, but choked. The tears, held back for weeks, months...years, bulged out of my eyes. An instant later I was in Ginny's arms, my head cradled against her chest as I cried.

She made nondescript noises of comfort as she stroked my hair. Tightening her grip every once in a while, the feeling of being touched, hugged, loved. It had been too long.

After what might have been a good couple of hours she backed away and crouched in front of me. "There was never _any_ condition on our friendship to you, Hermione. You're family, not because you married my brother, but because you're _you_! Mum has been worried sick, Bill and Fleur keep asking if you'll still come for Christmas. And to be honest they're pissed at Ron, not you."

"But they know…"

"Know what? That after years of being cheated on, you got sick of it? That your husband was a prat who didn't deserve you, and made you feel like turd?"

"That night."

"Was completely understandable, you don't need to feel sorry for it! Hermione, come on! Even Harry said it was a wonder you hadn't gone looking before."

"I _wasn't_ looking! I just...it was late, and I was drunk. That man, he just, he was nice. I shouldn't have."

"Maybe not. And it says a lot about your morals that you feel so badly about it, but that is for you to come to terms for yourself. Just want you to know, that no one thinks any less of you because of it. Truly."

She hugged me once again. "Now, I have something terribly important to ask and you have to say yes."

There was a dramatic pause as she took on a serious expression and squeezed my hands.

"Come to our place for Christmas?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Sorry for delay on this one, real life went BOOM on me the last two weeks. This chapter is a bit of a guilty pleasure, I always wanted to know how the 2000s would affect the wizarding world, what with cell phones and such. Have to say, if it wasn't obvious, that "Cursed Child" isn't taken as canon in this story, though I am taking inspiration from some of the events in the play.

Enjoy and share your thoughts! Every review is a bit of happy news ^^

 **Chapter 3**

Ginny stayed the night; and despite her semi accusation that I was turning into an alcoholic, she'd brought a bottle of firewhiskey along too.

We hadn't done sleepovers since...well, ever really. Unless you counted the times I was at her family home as a child, or Grimauld. We'd sort of skipped the whole crazy 20s fun which most university students enjoy in the Muggle world.

She'd moved in with Harry and I with Ron almost immediately after graduating.

Now, in my thirties, I had my own flat for the first time and an honest to god pajama party with my best friend.

We discussed this topic and that for a while, awkwardly trying to find our way into comfortable conversation again after so long. I tried to ask about Ginny's life at home and the kids, but it became apparent she was completely uninterested in discussing it.

"It's all I do!" she said between drinks, "Wash this, wash that, change their bedsheets, cook and all I get as thanks is an exhausted husband in the evening and kids who demand more. Tell me about you, your work."

I told her it wasn't much and that the rounds at night were as boring as they sounded. She was quite disappointed, but when I mentioned the West Wing, she jumped on the mystery like a boey in the ocean.

"How queer!" she exclaimed, somewhat intoxicated already, as we lay in my bed, "Whatd'you reckon it could be?"

"Not a single clue. I mean, I guess it must be some sort of experiment? Or research? I think Dilys tried to tell me to go have a look."

"Who?"

"One of the Headmaster's Portraits in McGonagall's office. She whispered that I should go see the West Wing, cause it was beautiful and some house-elf architects had recently built something in there."

"Huh, weirder and weirder…"

"Yeah."

"How did she know?"

"What?"

"Dilys, how did she know something was built?"

I shrugged, "Must have heard of it? I dunno... _oh!_ Ginny you're a genius!"

The redhead down her glass of firewhiskey and grinned, "Well, yes, obviously."

"Dilys must have a painting in St-Mungo's, possibly even more than one. It's quite probable that at least one of them is in the West Wing. But she can't just tell me what's in there. At least she didn't seem able to just say it out loud."

"No? That's strange. I don't think she's bound to any rules of St-Mungo's, only to the Headmaster of Hogwarts. So if she isn't saying it…"

"Then McGonagall is the one preventing her!" I said, feeling pieces of the puzzle falling together, and yet leaving bigger questions open. "What could be in St-Mungo's which McGonagall doesn't want us to know about?"

"Beats me," she said between yawns, "I need to sleep, Hermione."

I nodded, feeling exhausted as well. It was odd to sleep in my new upgraded home, even odder to have someone in bed with me, but it turned out to be one of the best night sleep I had had in a long time.

Ginny left bright and early to get back to her family. Harry, it turned out, had taken a half day off from work just so she could come visit me. Hugging my friend goodbye, I began to seriously question my decision making over the past few months. What could have possibly led me to believe Ginny would take Ron's side?

I was made to promise to keep my flat clean, something which I truly intended to follow through.

Having woken up with Ginny, much earlier than my usual schedule, and feeling quite well rested, I decided to hit Muggle London for some much required shopping. Checking on my wares in the new cupboards and fridge I wasn't surprised to find that my friend had stocked me up on food as well. Still, there were a few snacks and spices missing which you just couldn't get in the wizarding world.

It had been a long while since I dressed in jeans and t-shirt and for the first few hours of traveling my clothes felt constraining and rough against my skin. Having lost my only real connections to the Muggle world, I had rarely visited or kept up with its socio-political changes since the war. Smartphones, for example, was something that had quite passed me by. But more and more I had begun to see them in everyone's hands, their eyes glued to the screen.

This time was worse than any before. Every fifth person I saw was either on the phone, plugged in via headset or typing on the screen at lightning speed. My curiosity peaked, I decided to enter the closest telephone shop and have a look at the flat devices for myself.

"Good morning, Ma'am, can I help you with anything today?" a middle aged man, dressed in slacks and a red company t shirt displaying slogan and logo said as she approached me.

"Yes, erm...my old…Nokia? Broke down? So well, you see...I'm not really up to date with the new... smartphones, is it?"

The man's absurdly white smile broadened, "Of course! I'd be happy to show you around some of the new models we've received, just a couple of months ago actually. Right this way. Were you interested in a phone or tablet?"

"Both?" I answered, unsure what the difference was.

The clerk took me to a large white table with a dozen devices plugged in, displayed on small plastic pedestals. He proceeded to lift one after the other, explaining this and that, half of which I did not understand at first. I tried to ask questions which did not make me appear like I had just stepped out of the stone age but, to be honest, it did feel like that.

The more the man spoke, the more I began to regret having lost touch with _reality_. These phones were incredible, the progress made with the internet...data usage reaching gigabytes, over wireless...I was flabbergasted. Search engines having indexed millions of pages, everything at your fingertips.

It was no wonder everyone was glued to this thing, it was better than magic.

When asked if I would be interested in a contract with new phone model, I couldn't refuse. I had no idea if the phone would work in the magical world, but I couldn't pass on the opportunity to own such a device. I selected a one year contract after being advised that the technology was advancing so quickly, that a new model with nearly twice as much capabilities as the current one would likely come out once a year.

Such a foreign concept to the wizards, leaps of advancement every year. Their rate was more along the lines of one advancement every other century. And still they considered themselves better than Muggles.

I returned home a few hours later, with a brand new laptop, a tablet and a smartphone. Food and spices completely forgotten. Checking the clock, I decided to do the reasonable thing and have a nap before my shift began. Tech check would have to wait.

That night, and every night of the following weeks, I began plotting my sneaking into the West Wing. I also became aware of a few strange behaviours and details of the staff which I had not taken note of so far. It was a mark of how distracted I had been the past few weeks, honestly, as it now appeared glaringly obvious.

The West Wing was being guarded, monitored, with a different healer taking up shift exactly every four hours. Other than Healer Tuckett, I saw five other such guards, all of them more or less young and all wearing the trainee badge. This fact confused me at first, if whoever or whatever was kept in the West Wing was so important, why assign trainees to protect it?

Next to this project, I got in contact with Arthur Weasley and begged for his help with my newly bought technologies. Knockturn Alley wasn't as swimming with magical energies as Hogwarts was, so the devices did manage to start, but they shut down at random times and fizzed about at odd hours of the night. If my ex father-in-law had any qualms about helping me, they were immediately forgotten when I showed him the smartphone.

"Incredible! Unbelieveable, simply...fabulous! And you say it works wirefree?"

"Wireless, yes."

"And through this _wireless_ signal, it catches the internets?"

I smiled and tucked my legs under me, "It accesses the internet via the telecommunication network, by reaching to the nearest tower, which sends the signal in space, and then redirects it."

"Space! Truly the Muggles have gotten one up on us this time."

Though fascinated, Mr Weasley couldn't manage to make the devices work as intended. It became obvious that he also did not quite understand what _intended_ would look like. And so we scheduled a trip to London for the following Sunday.

It turned out to be an exhausting, hilarious, and extremely informative day for both of us. Ginny had volunteered to accompany us, but was kept home last minute due to Albus falling ill. Her company would have been welcomed, but in the end I realized it was better she not be around. Explaining everything to one person who had true passion for the topic, yet was somewhat clueless, was exhausting enough. I knew Ginny and her natural curiosity would have led her to ask a hundred thousand question, but her lack of real interest would have made the answers moot.

Unfortunately Mr Weasley's conclusion wasn't one I was very happy with, "I'm afraid a solution to this problem would take more than some spare time project, Hermione. This could be someone's career, bringing truly useful and advanced Muggle technologies to the Wizarding World. Can you imagine? Now need for owls, books...it'd ruin economies…"

"And help people stay connected!" I defended.

He nodded, but I could see that his initial excitement had been lost, he now looked at the phone in his hand with a hint of disdain in his expression, "I'm not sure we're ready for this."

"Well, I'm not about to go scream about it on top of rooftops. But I really would like have to have it for personal use."

We had returned to Diagon Alley and he handed me the device, "I heard of technology advanced wizards in Japan, there are so many people there, the magical centers crept over the Muggle ones ages ago. They had to find some kind of way to make it work, maybe try exploring that avenue."

I thanked him for his help and went home somewhat disappointed. It was strange really, I had lived my entire life without this technology, so there was no reason to miss it. Yet I felt absolutely determined to make them work. Maybe I just clung to the projects as distraction.

Slowly but surely, Christmas was approaching and a decision had to be made. To spend the holidays alone and miserable, or to join the Weasleys and potentially experience even more misery. Ginny, who now visited every other week, was hell bent on forcing me to attend. She had also become my co-conspirator regarding the West Wing and was becoming highly fed up with my stalling.

"You should just barge in! What are they going to do, really?"

"Arrest me?"

Ginny scoffed, "I doubt it. It can't be a legal thing, if it were there would be Aurors instead of Healers roaming the place."

"Hmm...maybe," I said, huffing as my laptop shut down again for the fifth time that hour. It always acted up whenever an extra witch or wizard was in the vicinity.

"Did you make Luna's phone work in the end?" Ginny asked, leaning over my shoulder to look at the machine.

I had messaged the globetrotter not long after my conversation with Ginny's father, knowing that she was in Japan and hoping to get her opinion on the matter. She had sent me an overly joyous and long letter back, claiming to be absolutely delighted to share with me parts of her travels. Among the feet of parchment scribbled with news of rare Pigmy Puffs, blue thestrals and the still elusive water spirit, she actually did claim that Wizarding Japan had function technology in their homes.

" _It's not as much as you'd expect to see in Muggle homes, mind you. But they've got electricity here, cell phones and sometimes even computers. At least one of those per household, except maybe for those who live in the few traditional wizarding communities. I'm sending you one of the latest smartphones released here, it's claimed to be 100% wizarding world compatible by their makers. I'm afraid it's in Japanese however, but I'm sure you'll find a way to change that._

 _Oh did I mention, I'm getting married!_ "

The last part was definitely the weirdest thing Luna could ever have written, and Ginny had threatened to hang me if I didn't reply immediately to ask more details about who Luna was marrying. We half expected it to be a woman.

I picked up the Japanese smartphone, "Sort of. I was planning another trip to London to get it looked at, but I just haven't had the time."

"But it works?"

I turned on the phone and handed it to her, "Yes, some of the commands and such I know from my English device. But it just gives me a headache to see the symbols after a while."

Ginny swiped her fingers over the glass screen, clicking this and that, until the camera turned on and she gasped, "You can take pictures with it!? But it's so small! Where do the photos come out?"

"They don't," I said and smiled as Ginny proceeded to snap a series of pictures, "You can go to a machine in a Muggle shop and get them printed though, but they don't move or anything."

"Duh, I know _that_ part. But this is nice...hey! Did you think about using it to document St-Mungo's? You could take pictures of the halls, the guards, it would help us plan the break in."

I wrinkled my nose at the memory of the Gringotts Bank breakin, my skin itched just thinking about the cursed coins, "Yeah, maybe."

Not accepting anything but a _yes ma'am_ as an answer, I slipped the phone in my robes and promised to snap at least a few pictures the following night.

"And Hermione," Ginny said before she left later that day, "Get a job, one that pays!"

I waved my hand at her, shooing the person and the comment. She was right, but I still had no idea what I wanted to do. Going back to the Ministry seemed like a step in the wrong direction, but money would run out soon. I had been advised that November would mark the end of my sick leave compensation. I had some money saved up, obviously, but even if I was careful, early next spring I'd need a source of income.

St-Mungo's had offered me a more permanent position, more out of pity I figured, but I had yet to return to them about it. McGonagall warned me that she would need to hire new teachers soon, and it was my last chance this year to take her up on the position.

I pushed the decision away from my mind, focusing instead of the shift ahead and my nightly rounds. I had not seen Hannah in a few weeks and I was beginning to worry about the woman, even though Neville assured me that she was fine and still working.

"Probably just busy, your schedules might not coincide," he'd told me during our last lunch together.

There was no reason for Neville to lie to me, but still something in his answer made me uneasy. With somewhat of a guilty conscience, I decided to skip my rounds that night and wait for Hannah to show up at the cafeteria. Nurse and Healer came and went, never any of the guards I noted to myself as I drank my tea, but at three in the morning there was still no sign of the Hufflepuff.

Somewhat frustrated, I decided to go roam the corridors and hunt her down. Unfortunately the hospital was bloody huge, and the only hint I had of her potential whereabouts was her relation to the West Wing.

Well, I thought, Ginny wanted pictures anyways.

I headed down the dark corridors, meeting a few people along the way and check over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't followed. Silly really, I couldn't really imagine that anyone here was out to get me, but still…

When I heard Hannah's voice echoing down from the direction of the West Wing I smirked, _gotcha_!

But my feeling of success quickly turned to worry when I realized she sounded angry and panicked. I slowed my footsteps and snuck to the corner of the corridor leading to the Wing's entrance. I held my breath and listened.

"It's not right! People need to know, you can't keep this a secret any longer!"

A man answered her, his voice familiar though I couldn't quite recognise it, "Mrs Longbottom, if you are unable to fulfil your duties as a Healer, perhaps I should have a word with St-Mungo's board of directors and have your application revisited."

"No, no please. It's just...this is _so_ wrong."

"If there is nothing else, I'd like to ask you to take an early leave today. Go home, rest, think about your future. We will speak again tomorrow."

There was a sniffle and rustle of robes, footsteps coming closer. I quickly cast a silent notice-me-not spell and hugged the wall as tightly as I could. Luckily Hannah made a right turn as she came down the corridor, heading towards the South Wing of the hospital where her parents-in-law were kept.

I was about to walk away when another man's voice spoke up, "Does she need to be dealt with?"

My blood ran cold. With shaking fingers I reached into my pockets and palmed the smartphone. Lowering the brightness and turning on the camera, no flash, I edged the camera lense over the corner and thumbed the button half a dozen time.

"Let's see, give her another chance. It's unfortunate that a Hogwart student was assigned to this case," the first man replied.

"A bureaucratic issue, it's been dealt with at the source."

"It better had. I'm getting tired of obliviating people."

Footsteps. Returning the phone to my pockets I lept away from the wall and sprinted down the corridor as fast as my feet would take me and did not stop until I had reached the Floo Network room, thrown in the powder, and landed in Knockturn alley.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** As I won't be able to update for a week or two, I figured I'd give you guys this chapter already. Hope you enjoy, and remember that every review lifts my day!

 **Chapter 4**

I did not leave my flat for the next four days. I cast ward after ward, transfigured locks and bolts to the door, and sent an owl to St-Mungo's telling them I had fallen ill and would need some time off.

There was no way to know if someone had seen me, most likely not, and even if? Was I really convinced that some conspiracy was going on at at St-Mungo's and someone was was controlling an entire Wing of the hospital and obliviating those who they couldn't trust to keep the secret?

Yes, yes I was.

Ginny came by on the fourth day, having finally managed to get a babysitter for the kids. I had owled her as well as soon as I had come home, but a sick Lilly had kept her home. A squeal of pain at my front door indicated her arrival.

"Sorry," I said as I opened the door and dropped the other hexes and booby traps I had placed, "Forgot to remove those one."

"Blimey Hermione, what happened? You look horrible!"

I blinked owlishly at her, having gotten very little rest the past few nights. When sleep had claimed me, it had been filled with nightmares of the war and my parents. Their lifeless eyes after I'd cast the spell, my tears as I spun a new story for them, a new life. I hated the memory.

"Not here," I said and closed, bolted and recursed the door.

Dragging my friend to my bed, she clicked her tongue and commented on the poor state of the place, "You promised," she said as she waved her wand at a couple of open bag of crisps.

"Irrelevant," I answered before casting a silencing charm around us.

"Hermione, you're beginning to scare me. What happened?"

I sat down, Ginny took a spot next to me after getting rid of some crumbs from the cookies I'd eaten earlier. From a secret drawer I had transfigured and warded, I pulled out the Japanese phone. Before turning it on, I recounted to my friend the events of the night.

She listened silently, frowning in disbelief a few times, but never accusing me of making it up. When I came to the point of having taken pictures, her eyes lit up and she looked down at my hands expectantly.

"It was Tuckett, that trainee Healer," I said, unlocking the phone and pulling up the pictures. They were dark, but the pale face of the young man was clearly visible in front of the closed doors leading into the West Wing. His companion was impossible to identity, the second man had had his back turned to me. The most I could see was that he was tall and had dark short haired.

Ginny took the phone in my hand and tapped the picture, it zoomed in on Tuckett's face, "I know this guy, he's no healer in training. He works for Harry! Hermione, he's a full fledged Auror."

I nodded, my suspicions confirmed, "I figured as much, there is someone in there Ginny. Someone who shouldn't be alive."

She gaped at me, "You don't think it's you-know-who...no, they burnt him. They wouldn't keep him at St-Mungo's."

"The Ministry took Voldemort's body, no one saw him after that. What if he survived a second time? What if he can't be killed?"

Ginny threw the phone on my lap, "Don't be absurd. St-Mungo's is the _last_ place they'd keep the crazy bastard. It has to be someone else, or _something_ else. They wouldn't put the patients in danger like that."

I wasn't so sure, "Whoever it is, Hannah seemed to know them. And if this apprentice healer is really an Auror, then Harry has to know about it too. McGonagall obviously knows as well...Ginny this is _weird_."

"Downright creepy if you ask me. We should talk to Harry."

"I don't know if that's a good idea, no one seems to be supposed to know about this. What if they…" I trailed off, worrying at my lip.

"What? What if they obliviate us? Hermione don't be batty, Harry's not going to point his wand as his best friend and wife."

I knew she was right, but it felt risky anyways. Hell, it felt risky to leave my flat.

"Come on, we're going to the Ministry," Ginny said and took my hand, forcefully pulling me off the couch, "Bring that phone with you."

I tried to argue with her, but she would have none of it. Not even my unwashed hair was enough to derail her plan, instead she waved her hand about and I felt a tingle of magic wrapping around my body.

"What was that?"

"Cleaning spell, vital with babies I tell you. You look fine now, let's go."

It was nippy outside, November had brought early frost and I wouldn't have beenn surprised if snow would soon follow. Ginny marched as if she was about to go to war all over again, and not once did she let go of my hand.

We entered the dusty floo shop, took our powder, and soon arrived at the main hall of the Ministry of Magic.

The place had not changed much since the last time I had been here, and with the familiarity of it came the memories. The battle and then the nostalgia of having worked here every day of my life for a decade, and then quitting. I felt shame.

A few people stopped to look at us as we walked, either interested in our breakneck pace or recognizing us, but Ginny stopped at nothing. I wondered why she was so adamant to find out what was in that wing. It didn't involve her at all.

Then again, it didn't involve me either.

Maybe she needed a distraction too, something other than kids and family and boring daily work. Still, I felt I had blown the whole thing out of proportions, it might just be some rich sick wizard with the means to secure a whole hospital wing for his dying days.

 _Then why was Hannah so upset?_ Came that little voice inside my head which urged me on, told me my instincts were right.

We burst into Harry's office quite unannounced, with an apologetic clerk behind us.

"Harry!" the young red-haired witch cried out as she stepped in, catching her husband with his feet on his desk, his head hardly visible behind a pile of untidy paperwork.

I tried my best to convince myself that none of those papers must be important, to be treated as such, but it was a poorly formulated lie, even inside my own head.

Harry nearly fell off his chair at the disturbance, the paper he had been reading, which turned out of be a Quidditch Weekly issue, went flying up in the air, "Ginny?" he managed to croak once on his feet.

The clerk, a short frizzy haired man, squeezed in between Ginny and I, "Mr. Potter, I am terribly sorry, sir, but these witches, I tried to stop them."

"Bugger off, Baxter," Ginny snapped at him.

"It's alright Baxter, I've got this," Harry said with a heavy sigh. The mousey clerk retracted and left the room, closing the door behind him, but not before giving me a glowering flare. I turned back to my old school friend, who lifted up his palms in the air, "It's good to see you, Hermione."

I lifted a hand, "Hi, Harry, yeah. Been a while."

"Months, Hermione, it's been months."

"Yeah, well…"

"Oh later!" Ginny cut in, "Harry, what's in St-Mungo's?"

I wanted my friend to act surprised, unknowing, but Harry had never been a good actor. His eyebrows shot up, then down, he cleared his throat and began to play with the pile of untouched paperwork on his desk, "Sick people?" he offered.

"Don't play daft with me. Hermione, show him."

Harry looked up at me, his green eyes wide and worried. Was I about to bust up something innocent? Something he had to do for his work? It all felt suddenly so wrong…

"I dunno, Ginny. Maybe…"

But she had pulled out the phone, unlocked it with the security code which I'd never taught her, and shoved the picture of Ticket in Harry's face, "Hermione says he threatened to obliviate Hannah. What's in there?"

Harry let out a long sigh, and then slumped back down into his chair, hand over his eyes, "I guess it was only a matter of time before you involved yourself in this, and dragged Ginny in with you," he said.

"Don't blame Hermione for this, you're hiding something. The ministry is hiding something, we have a right to know."

"Are you asking out of the concern of our fellow citizens, or are you just trying to get your scoop and prove to the Daily Prophet that you have what it takes?" he snapped at his wife.

"Daily Prophet?" I mumbled, confused.

"Didn't she tell you? Ginny has applied to write for the Daily, but they're questioning how an ex-professional Quidditch player and mother of three can have anything to offer. Skeeter is actively working against her application."

I turned to my friend, "You were using me?"

"No! No, Hermione nothing like that, just that this is important!"

"Is it? Ginny, we don't even know anything! This is... you should have told me."

Determined not to be quieted or shamed, Ginny turned back to Harry, her hair looking very much like a halo of flames, "What are you hiding in there?"

There was a moment of silence, Harry looked at his wife, then at me, for a moment I dreaded the worse. He reached for his wand, and I for mine...was I really going to have to defend myself against my oldest friend?

But he did not attack, instead he waved his wand at the wall and a fireplace appeared. Secret entrance for the head of the Auror office, made sense. He stood up, took a pinch of floo, and stepped in, calling for St-Mungo's.

Ginny looked at me, "I'm sorry Hermione, but I have to know. This could get me a job."

"And it ends mine," I said, fully aware that once the board of directors heard of my transgressions, there was no way they'd keep the offer to work at St-Mungo's open. Even my nightly shifts would likely be deemed unnecessary.

We followed Harry and landed in the main floo network room of the hospital. From there he led the way toward the West Wing, giving every indication that he'd visited the place a hundred times.

We arrived at the corner where I had hidden only four days ago, terrified and worried for Hannah - and kept walking. A healer was pacing the corridor, one of the guards as I'd come to call them, a trainee badge on her robes. They must have come up with the idea of apprentice as a cover so patients wouldn't come to them with questions. Nurses and full fledged Healers were approached left and right by worried family members of patients.

"Mr. Potter, sir, I'm terribly sorry, I didn't know you were visiting today," the young woman said, eyeing us dubiously.

"It's alright Jin Yang, could you open the doors please?"

The woman nodded and scrambled to unward and unlock the large white doors.

I don't know what I expected on the other side, but the sight of a boringly normal corridor, with a couple of nurses chatting merrily as they left a patient's private rooms was not it.

They turned to look at us for a moment, but said nothing, instead continuing into a neighbouring room to continue their work.

"What is this?" Ginny asked, obviously disappointed, as she peered into the first room on our right.

"Expected monsters?" Harry asked without much humour, "Well, they aren't far off."

Leaning into the room behind Ginny I saw a man lying on a white bed, a blanket pulled up to his chest. His face was disfigured on one side, his eyes closed. Both his wrists were shackled to the bed, and the single window in the room had thick metal bars across it.

"Prisoners?" I asked, "Who are they?"

"Death Eaters, most of them, victims of permanent spell damages and wounds during the final battle and arrests afterwards."

Ginny gasped and walked to the next room, where a woman lay much the same way, though her face was intact and she lay on her side, in a fetal position, "Are they all...sleeping?"

"In a coma, of various sorts," Harry explained, "Plus three of them have gotten their minds broken to pieces, they are _awake_ , as much as it can be deemed such."

"But, why are they here? Next to normal people, why not Azkaban?" Ginny continued.

Ginny's comments made me cringe, and regret filled my heart. This was no conspiracy…

"They were," Harry said quietly, leading us further into the West Wing, where I was beginning to realize that the only secret being kept was his compassion for these people.

"I don't understand," Ginny mumbled after a while, going from room to room, witnessing the nothingness that was a comatosed body.

"Oh Harry," I said finally, "I am so sorry, if I would have known…"

He looked at me and smiled, "Yes well, you had to find out didn't you. I knew it would happen the moment I heard you'd come to St-Mungo's. I was surprised you didn't come barging in here on your first day."

"Why hide it though?" I asked.

"The Wizarding World still believes in the death penalty, you know. I wasn't even aware these people were alive until I took up the Head of Auror seat, I was shocked. Comatosed patients kept in hospital _care_ at Azkaban. I had to see, to visit. The state of things, Hermione, the filth...you can't imagine."

"But they're Death Eaters," Ginny said, "One of them might have killed Fred, they killed Lupin, your friends!"

Harry and I looked at her, then at the still body in the room in front of which we had stepped. It was a young man, younger than us he seemed, his eyes were open but there was no movement. There were no flowers next to him, no card or memorabilia, just the staleness of a hospital room. I tried, and failed, to imagine him in Azkaban, cold and dirty, unaware of why or what was happening to him. He'd obviously made the wrong choice at some point in his life, but this was the ultimate price to pay. Not death.

"I had them all moved here four years ago, all the ones the Healers assured me had next to no chance of ever waking up. They're no danger to anyone, but the Wizarding World, the people, they'd never understand. They've changed since the war, we forced them to, but this wouldn't be accepted."

I wondered how much tax money was being pumped into the place, and realized Harry was quite right. Not only was the stigma against Death Eaters stronger than ever, but the idea that working wizards and witches willingly donated their money to see to these people's expert care and comfort...there could be riots.

Still, something didn't seem quite right, "Why was Hannah Abbot so upset about this? I'd think she, of all people, would have appreciated the help you're bringing to these patients. Whatever their past may be."

Harry sighed and pointed to a closed door at the end of the corridor. The only closed door in the hallway, "I know he'd hate the noise, and he prefered the dark…"

Ginny, her curiosity peaked again, rushed to the door. With a hand on the knob she turned to me, eyes wide, and slowly pushed it open.

I had expected a gasp, a scream, some form of loud shock. Instead the redhead simply stood, eerily still, forcing me to step up and peer over her shoulder into the gloom.

And there, in the single bed in the middle of the room, his eyes closed and chest moving ever so slightly up and down, was Professor Severus Snape.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Yes! You were right, of course. Now let's see what Hermione will do with our dearest Professor. But first, new character to introduce!

Enjoy, and reviews for the soul.

 **Chapter 5**

I don't know what connection I had entitled myself to have with the man, but as I saw his still and diminished form, a twisted cry escaped my lip and I felt myself walk forward to his bed. Looking down at his sunken face, I remembered his eyes that night, his barely coherent mumbling as life left his body, his hand reaching for Harry's face...the tears, the vial.

"How could you!?" I cried, turning to Harry with my own tears streaming down my face, "How could you _not_ tell us!?"

Ginny was quiet, for once, and her husband walked past her into the room. The man I had considered a friend looked at me and shrugged, "I didn't think anyone would care. _Truly_ care."

I wanted to hit him. To scream at him. Make him realize what a fool he'd been, to demand an explanation, but I choked on my own words.

After a moment I whispered, "You never went to his grave...you never went cause you knew. You named your son after him, but didn't visit his grave."

"I didn't know, at first. I only found out four years ago…when I became Head of the office, when I visited the prison for the first time."

"No," Ginny said loudly, "Don't you say it, don't you dare tell me they kept him in _that_ place, in Azkaban! Him!?"

Harry nodded slowly and moved to the other side of the bed where a bouquet of white lilies stood in a vase, "I was beyond myself when I found out...security, I was told. My word wasn't good enough, they said. Couldn't be sure, it was agreed. I had him moved with the others."

Four years ago, which meant that Snape had been kept in Azkaban for nearly a decade before Harry found him. As if his life hadn't been hard enough.

"How is he even alive?" I asked, noticing the angry red scars of Nagini's bite along his neck.

Harry shook his head, "Only he'd be able to tell us that. I read the reports, once I was allowed to. It seems he made it out of the shack after we left him. The Aurors who went looking for his body found a trail of blood. They hunted him down, there was so much chaos...they thought he was running away. And that was proof enough of his guilt for them."

"So he was awake when they found him?" Ginny asked.

"Seems so, he fought back. I don't think he was thinking straight, like a wounded animal, he lashed out at them. The three Aurors who caught him, they didn't go gently. They didn't know what Snape had done, at that time, they thought they were catching a dangerous Death Eater."

"They put him in this coma," I said, "They tried to kill him."

My friend nodded and sighed, his shoulders slumped and he suddenly seemed as old as Snape, older even. He looked down at the man who had, in a way, saved us all, "I have no idea what spell they used. I went to talk to them, ten years later, but it was too late to check their wands. And none of them could really recall how the fight had begun and ended, or who cast what."

There was a chair in the room, next to Snape's bed, and I sat down. On the nightstand I saw a few books stacked up together, science text and some potions magazines; someone was reading to him, perhaps even Harry.

Looking around the room, I noted that although the decor of the other rooms had been warm and neat, they had still had the sterile feel of a hospital. Not so with this one.

Thick dark green curtains had been hung in front of two large windows, where only slivers of sunlight filtered through. The single bed had silver covers and a black duvet, and instead of metal the frame was solid ebony wood. As was the chair I now sat in, a matching set along with the bedside table. The walls weren't white, but dark brown, and four candles flickered warmly on the wall on either side of the bed.

It felt, homey. As if someone cared, and cared a lot. Reading to Snape, I might imagine of Harry, but home decorating? I noticed an empty frame hanging next to the door, with perfect view of the room and its inhabitant. And it clicked.

"McGonagall knows, doesn't she?" I asked, thinking of Dilys.

"Yes, she was the first one I went to after finding out. She helped organized this whole Wing with her ties to one of the St-Mungo's directors on the board. Some cousin or so."

A lot of it made sense now, yet the secrecy of it all confused me, "But why keep it hidden, Harry? He's a national hero."

"No, Hermione, _you_ think he's a hero. To the rest of the world, he's a Death Eater with a conscience at best, an elaborate liar who fell victim to his true master at worst. He _killed_ people, good people, innocent women and husbands and children. There is no forgiveness for that, not ever."

The wind and anger and emotions had left Ginny, and she now approached her husband and slipped her hand in his, "Oh Harry, you could have at least told me."

He shrugged, "Maybe. But you were pregnant at the time, about to pop with little Albus. I didn't want to upset you, besides, you never would have allowed me to pick the name had you known Snape was alive."

" _Professor_ Snape," I chided, my remark automatic, random. We stared at each other and chuckled for an awkward moment.

We left the room a few moments later, blinking into the brightly lit corridor and closing the door behind us.

"I guess there is no point in asking what's been done to try and heal him?" I asked.

"Everything. I'm not exaggerating, I've contacted and reached out to every single expert around the world which might have been able to help. From fully fledged professionals, to astrologists and faith healers."

Ginny scoffed, "How many did you have to obliviate?"

"As few as possible," Harry said, completely serious, which sent a shiver down my back, "We hid Snape's face for most, and only a few locals were brought over which would have had enough knowledge to piece the story together. We tried to keep anyone who'd recognized him away from here."

"So Hannah was really a mistake then?" I asked, remembering the conversation from a few days ago.

"Quite. But don't worry, I wouldn't have let them obliviate her."

"No," Ginny said, "Only a bunch of strangers and healers. Merlin's beard Harry, this is some serious news."

"It's _not_ news Ginny, you can't publish this."

"People have a right to know."

Harry groaned, but held his tongue. The two working nurses passed us by and gave us a nod as we headed towards the exit.

We walked in silence until we reached the floo room. I felt exhausted and although I still had multiple burning questions, my mind needed time to absorb this whole story.

One thing was left to be said however, "Harry's right, Ginny, I'm not sure the public would be ready to deal with this. It would open a wound so old, so badly healed...people would lose trust in the ministry all over again."

"And the ministry would only have itself to blame," she hissed, lowering her voice and a family appeared from one of the fireplaces.

"Maybe, but do you really want to put the lives of those patients at risk? Send them back to Azkaban?" More people stepped into the room, a few of them spotted us and began to point fingers, recognizing Harry Potter, "Just... think about it, please."

She did not seem very happy with the prospect, but she nodded nonetheless. Turning to Harry, I asked if I would be allowed to visit Snape again. He saw nothing against it, though he warned me not to get my hopes up.

"I know you Hermione, don't get yourself into a dead end project. Don't make him your next NEWT crusade."

I lied and told him that I had no such plans.

I don't think he believed me, I guess he'd have been a terrible Auror if he'd bought it. But still we parted ways with smiles and mentions of Christmas which I decidedly avoided.

I stumbled home like a train wreck, fell into bed and passed out with a heavy weight in my heart.

My sleep was riddled with periods of full consciousness, nightmares and the feeling of my mental gears grinding into action. As soon as I awoke I already had the basis of a plan and my first stop had to be St-Mungo's again.

Too much of it felt like a dream, a crazy sleep deprived deluded dream. I had to see the West Wing again, alone and unhindered by the frantic emotions of the new discovery. I had to see Professor Snape.

My passing was not hindered by any guard this time, the Auror in disguise smiled at me as I approached the entrance and bid me a good morning. The change of attitude from threats to warm greetings was unnerving.

Inside, the hall looked much like it had the day before. Quiet, bright, tranquil once could say. Unlike most of St-Mungo's, each patient here had been giving a single room. As I stood looking into the first room, at the heavily scarred man, a man with a heavy scottish accent called me gently from behind, "Miss Granger?"

I turned to find a man with a graying ponytail, smiling down at me through a well kept beard. He wore dark purple nurse's robes, "My name is Donavan McGonagall, I was told to expect you," he continued, holding out his hand.

My brain needed a moment to process the information thrown at me, I couldn't quite decide which question to ask first, the nurse answered all of them before I could speak, "Mr. Potter left a note after your departure yesterday, something along the lines of _if I know Hermione, she'll visit you at six a.m. sharp with a written down list of questions._ And yes, I am related to the Headmistress of Hogwarts. I get that last one a lot."

I was still shaking his hand. It was stupid to focus on it, but I found him quite attractive. I was blushing furiously within a heartbeat and pulled myself away, clearing my throat, "Yes, I see. Thank you, I do actually have…" I dug into my pockets and took out a hastily scribbled list I had done over breakfast, "I have a few things to discuss."

"I am completely at your disposal, ma'am."

I peered up at him through my eyelashes and saw him smirk, a handsome man who knew he was handsome. Making a huge effort to keep my own smile in check, reminding myself where I was and why, I took a deep breath and began chipping away at the mountain in my thoughts.

"Let's start with the basis, why are they all kept separated?"

"Security, on the nye impossible chance one of them should ever wake up, the rooms are set up to seal themselves, like a prison. It would be disastrous if more than one should share a room, at best it would give them an ally, at worst a hostage."

That made a lot of sense, and warranted the extra cost. I pulled out a quill from my robe and waved in the air along with the parchment, as we continued to speak my notes and remarks were noted down. Not quite automatically, like Skeeter's blasted tools, but whenever I focused on the quill. It had required quite a bit of practice, as the multitasking had at first been too much, but years spent in the Department of Ministries library had perfected the technique.

Donavan, as he insisted I call him, complimented me on the spell work in between two questions. I blushed again and told myself to get a grip. Now was really not the time to start flirting or paying attention to flirting.

I was at it for hours. We even had tea in between, in a small kitchen built specifically for the West Wing employees so that they wouldn't have to come in and out of security. Because there was heavy security, as I was told. The staff was checked and searched every morning, for weapons, spell influence and even potential recording devices. I thought of my smartphone, weighting against my thigh, and wondered if I should go apologize for taking it with me and hand it in. But it seemed I had gained special privileges to even be here, so I held my tongue.

It was early afternoon, we'd been talking for nearly four hours, when Donavan scratched at his beard and said, "Miss Granger, not to pry or pretend to know you very well. But you've been to every patient's room twice now, asked about the ailment, the cures attempted, some questions even more than once. I do believe you are avoiding that door," and he pointed to the only closed door in the West Wing.

Staring at Professor Snape's room, I sighed. My parchment, now five times as long as it was when I had brought it in, dipped in the air behind me. For a second I nearly asked the nurse if the Professor was awake, because the idea of barging into his chambers without permission...it seemed to wrong. Like the ultimate breach of privacy, done to the last man on earth to deserve more pain or humiliation.

"Come on, he won't mind you being there. I think it does him good, Minerva attends to him every day she is able. She hates the idea of him being alone in here."

I nodded and allowed him to lead me to the door, which he opened gently, "Afternoon Headmaster," Donavan said, which shocked me, "There is someone here to see you again, I believe you're well acquainted. She came by yesterday, but might be you did not notice."

The nurse's tone was friendly, meant to be comforting perhaps, but I couldn't help feeling as if he was mocking the patient. Or me. He'd spoken a few lines to one or two of the Death Eaters in the ward earlier, but I thought it...a slip of the tongue. But here he was, chatting away and explaining every little thing he did as he moved about.

He noticed me standing there at the entrance, watching him somewhat dumbfounded, "It's as good for me as it is for them, Miss Granger. Working with unconscious patients takes it toll, contact is important and reminds us they are humans, not just stuffed dolls. And as said earlier, we don't know what most of these patients are suffering from, some of them might very well be conscious, but unable to move."

A shiver ran down my spine, what a terrifying thought. To be awake, but frozen, for years. Like a body binding spell gone wrong, but no one to know, no one to break it. Behind me my quill scribbles quickly.

"I'm sorry," I said, "It's just, it's all...much."

"It is. I'll leave the two of you alone, you have much to catch up on I'm sure. I'll be doing some of my daily duties now, but will be there for any further questions you might have."

I nodded and thanked him as he left, closing the door ever so quietly behind him as he did. Once he was gone I let out a deep breath and reached for quill and paper, needing my hands occupied to temper my nervousness.

But there was no note to make here. I stared at the bed, my eyes roaming from the thick wooden frame, to the comfortable looking duvet, to his hands... thin, elongated fingers with bulging knuckles, lying on either side of him. Some dark hair over the back of his hand, a small wrist, disappearing into a black silky sleeve which rested over his arms, hiding much of their shape.

His shoulders, not so very broad as they had seemed under his robes, the collar was low and left open, so unlike the professor I had known. But the buttons had remained, though the first two were popped open, I saw a trail of tiny little black dots from his neck down to his chest where the blanket hid the rest. On his bare neck were the scars, still so red, angry, as if made yesterday. Tiny little red dots, like his black buttons, aligned perfectly to form the mouth of the monster that had killed... _nearly_ killed him.

A long neck, and a small head, resting on a couple of large silver pillows, his hair combed and washed, hanging like a black halo around his head. His face was still much how it had been, if perhaps thinner, older. Someone seemed to have fixed his nose, the crook was no longer there, making it only marginally smaller. His thin lips were closed shut with a determined downward angle, but his frown was gone, giving his face a calm expression.

His eyes closed, obviously. Tiny bulges under black eyebrows, long eyelashes over his cheeks. I expected them to open, him to stare at me, yell, deduct 100 points from Gryffindor!

"Miss Granger!"

I screamed, jumped, quill and parchment went flying and my struggles to get my wand out resulted it in limpy falling to the ground. My heart beating at a hundred miles an hour, I turned around to find Headmistress Dilys in her portrait.

"Oh, I am terribly sorry dear, did I shock you?"

I couldn't speak, my breathing ragged, but I did manage to give the old healer a very determined glare. The Hufflepuff wasn't deterred however, and her smile returned quickly as I began to pick up my things, "I did very much hope you'd make your way here my dear, terribly sorry about the lie. I'm afraid the elves are rubbish at construction."

It took me a long moment to figure out what she was babbling on about, but then I vaguely remembered her comments at Hogwarts and waved a hand, "No harm done."

"I shall think not, it was about time someone with a right head on their shoulders come over. Not that the healers at St-Mungo's aren't esteemed and unrivaled, but poor Severus doesn't interest them much. He's a chore, really. Even little Donavan, I'd thought that as a fellow Slytherin, he'd pick up the pace a tad, but alas…"

"Professor McGonagall is related to a Slytherin?" I asked, my childish prejudice still quite alive an well, for which I blamed none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Yes, I'm sure you've noticed. He's not quite the bashing your head against the wall until it cracks type, that's more your area."

I rolled my eyes, but decided not to pursue this line of conversation. Instead I took the same seat I had the night before, it gave me perfect view of both Dilys and the professor.

"You were asked to watch over him, by the Headmistress?" it was a rhetorical question, really.

"Yes, after she found out. Had my picture moved here from the lobby where I usually hung. Lonely I have to say, I used to see all their faces...happy, and sometimes sad. New babies, dying elders, I was able to greet them all. Now it's just him."

That did sound like quite the punishment, I had to admit. A portrait's existence was a dreary one.

"Sounds like you also see him as a chore," I said after some time, making the old woman blush and huff and put both hands on her hips until she deflated somewhat.

"You might be right, my dear, you might have a point."

I interviewed Dilys on a variety of topics related to Snape in particular. From who had come to visit, to which healers Harry had brought in, to how he was treated by the staff and his current medical routine. Unfortunately most of the answers simply depressed me. Every single expert seemed to have been contacted, every known cure had been administered, but Professor Snape had never shown any sign of improvement.

"Nor of deterioration, that's as important! He lives, and is doing better than anyone could have predicted," Dilys said, as if urgently needing to give me positive input. Maybe she was afraid I'd give up when faced with the bleak prospect of this challenge.

 _It's a person,_ I chided myself, _not a Sudoku puzzle_.

One question, though absolutely unrelated to the case, interested me, "Dilys, why is there a portrait of the Professor in the Headmaster's office of Hogwarts? I read that only deceased Headmasters are displayed."

"Ah, yes, well the truth is that no one knows for sure. The portrait which Snape had done came up on the night of Voldemort's defeat, but it fell when Minerva learnt of his survival."

"Wait, so the castle took its knowledge from the Headmistress?"

"From its inhabitants, most likely, portraits and otherwise. It might feel sentient, but it's still an unmoveable pile of rocks, it gets its awareness from the people within."

"But the portrait is still there, I saw it."

"Brute force, pure and simple, à la Grynffindor. Minerva threatened to hex the castle's bollocks off often enough for it to allow her to replace the painting. She told me it had so many male Headmasters in its past, that the threat actually served quite well. Honestly I wish I would have thought of that…"

I smiled at the thought.

Silence fell over the room, and my attention went from the portrait to Professor Snape's still form. I couldn't say how much time went by, but when I turned again to the portrait, Dilys had gone. Finally alone, I allowed myself to say what I realized at that moment I had wanted to say since seeing him…

My fingers reached for his hand, hesitant, as afraid of him waking up as I was to find them cold and dead. Neither happened, I took first his little finger, gently lifting it up with my left hand, and then covered it entirely with both and squeezed gently. Tears were already rolling down my face as I hung my head and tried to croak out the words.

"I am so...so sorry. We shouldn't have left you, we should have stayed. I didn't know," I looked up at his face, tears blurring my vision, "I should have known, but it was...you...you were dead. The blood, there had been too much blood. I swear to you, if I would have known…"

It sounded like excuses, so many of them. What was it that Harry had said? There was no forgiveness for these people, not ever.

He was right, some things were beyond forgiveness.

I sniffed loudly, disgustingly, wiped my face on my shoulder and took in a deep breath. Squeezing his hand again, I found my voice, "I am going to _fix_ this. I promise."


End file.
